Lost In the World
by loudmist
Summary: Months after the Games that he won - all for his family, who were taken away from him - Haymitch is barely living day by day. Alone. Drunk. Desolate. This is a (short) account of the months after, and the moments when he meets the two new Victors of District 12 during the 74th Hunger Games. ('sequel' to The Fighter of the Second Quarter Quell) (T for content/language)


_Hello readers!_

_Reading _The Fighter of the Second Quarter Quell_ might help this short follow-up make sense._

_I felt that I couldn't just leave Haymitch hanging where he was after the Quarter Quell. This is a short story to show what happened after, ending with a Haymitch POV from the 74th Hunger Games._

_Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter 1: Still Fighting<strong>

"You fucked up, kid," Cassie said, holding her hand out with a raised eyebrow.

Haymitch stopped and stared at his former mentor in front of him, out of place in the Black Market of District 12, her bright purple pinstripe suit standing out amongst the darker, mangier clothes of the other citizens.

"What?" he snapped.

Cassie frowned at him, and her fingers wiggled, as though she was expecting him to give her something.

He blinked, shaking his head.

Cassie was gone. In her place was the old man, the owner of the general liquor stand, frowning at him.

"I said, fifteen coins, kid."

Haymitch reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful, giving it to him. He grabbed the box of bottles he had bought, putting it on his rusted wagon; his first purchase with his winnings. To carry the liquor, his second purchase. Then his third, fourth, fifth…

"Don't call me kid," he said as he left, the sound of the rickety wheels of the wagon and the bottles rattling together following him out of the Black Market.

* * *

><p>Their footsteps echoed throughout the empty Victors Village, their boots crunching on the gravel.<p>

He was finally done.

With the speeches, interviews, putting up a fake front and spitting out pre-written speeches about the great nation of Panem during his forced Victory Tour. Refraining from punching out Capitol citizens as he watched them indulge themselves on food that the rest of Panem would kill to have – literally; avoiding eye contact of the parents of the fallen tributes, while staring straight at President Lannis in the eyes, acting as though he didn't want to break his neck.

Cassie was walking him to his new home in the Victor's Village.

She was his rock the whole time through, giving him pointers, sticking by his side at the parties so he didn't run his mouth… holding his head as he drunkenly emptied his stomach into a toilet… half-carrying him to bed another night, resting a cold towel on his forehead the next.

"Kid… you gotta make some friends… do something with your time," she said, breaking the silence.

"They all just stare at me… in awe. As if I'm their hero or something. As if I'm not a murderer. As if I didn't lose… _everybody_. They all just ignore that President Lannis up and took my family away, probably killed them. Nobody even fucking questions why they're gone. I didn't even get to say goodbye-" his voice cracked, and he stopped, shaking his head.

Cassie frowned, her face stern.

"Kid, I'm going to be real with you here. After the stint at the games, with the boundary… nothing you did was ever going to be enough. That's how The Capitol works."

"Then why the fuck should I comply? What am I supposed to do now?" he yelled.

Cassie sighed as they stopped in front of one of many identical looking houses. He followed her as she walked up the pathway.

She reached into her pocket and brought out a key, opening the large front door. They stepped through, and as Haymitch looked around at his new home, he felt like throwing up.

The décor, the unnecessary space, the colors… it reminded him of the Capitol.

He'd wanted to live in his real home, where he grew up with his family, but as Cassie explained, it was unheard of. The house was put up for sale (and/or barter) the moment Haymitch boarded the train to come back to District 12 after he won.

Cassie turned on the lights, and a large crystal chandelier cast bright light within the foyer. She took a few steps in, looking around, her lips pursed. She let out a heavy breath, and turned to face him.

"Which question do you want answered first?"

He blinked, and kicked at the door to close it, the slam echoing and even rattling the large windows.

"Whatever you feel like answering first," he said tensely.

Cassie shook her head, and shoved her hands in her pockets as she paced around.

"Well, you should comply, because you want to live. You showed that fact when you won the games-"

"I fought, I _killed_, not for myself! I did it for Finn-" his voice broke, but he shook his head and continued, "And my dad. For… I became someone I never wanted to become so I could come back home to _them_. And now they're gone. So what the fuck do I have to live for now?"

Cassie stopped her pacing and then rushed towards him, getting in his personal space.

"That's it, Haymitch. You're _alive_. There are forty-seven other KIDS that can't say the same," she snapped.

Haymitch drew back, but Cassie still stepped forward.

"So don't you DARE taint any of their names just so you can feel sorry for yourself. You made it. You defeated all odds. You survived twice as many tributes in the history of these blasted Games. You _fought_. You're going to live, but it's not for the fucking Capitol. It's for yourself, it's for the one name that I will not speak because I know you will hurt me for saying it-" Haymitch's head snapped up to glare at her, and she nodded, her mouth drawn tight as she continued.

"But we both know what she told you to do. And you need to keep doing it. It's not just for your family, or for her… it's for the countless lives that have been lost to The Games."

Haymitch blinked, and looked down.

"What's the answer to my second question?"

Cassie let out a small hum, and walked away from him. He looked up to see her shaking her head, running a hand over her buzzcut.

"You're the only living victor of your District, kid. You're going to be the Mentor for all other tributes from now on."

Haymitch already knew this – President Lannis told him on the train home as he threatened his life. And even if that hadn't happened… it was a standard in The Games. The Victor became the Mentor.

"So I… what? Give kids false hopes on returning to their families? Train them so they can enter the Arena and die?"

Cassie turned to him, shaking her head.

"No. You'll be realistic with them, I know you will. But you'll give them a fighting chance, the same I gave to the four of you at the beginning of all of this. A chance, which is all one needs."

* * *

><p>He hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and saluted the old wrinkly woman who sold him the best liquor the District had to offer. It was a special stand that he indulged on, the prices were high.<p>

She always saved the best spirits for him, since he always gave the most money. Even though he'd leave a portion of his winnings aside each month to 'anonymously' leave on the Donner Candy Shop doorstep… he still had enough money to keep him out of his own mind. All the time.

He was on his way back to the Victor's Village, almost at the gate, when he heard a second set of footsteps amongst his own.

He frowned, tightening the grip on his bag as he continued walking.

The steps were getting closer and closer…

He saw a hand reach out for his arm from the corner of his eye, and he reacted.

He slowly dropped his bag, not wanting to break a bottle as he brought his other hand to the attacker's throat, finally meeting his attacker's gaze.

Bright green eyes stared back at him.

He loosened his grip on her neck, moving his hand to cup it instead, pulling her forward to him as he leaned down and kissed her hungrily.

But May squirmed and pushed at him.

He laughed against her lips, still kissing her until she punched his stomach.

Hard.

He shouted and stumbled back, shaking his head.

"We're alone, May," he whispered, finding her gaze. "No more cameras."

She was crying, shaking her head.

He raised a hand to wipe the tears from her face, but she stepped back, shaking her head again.

"Miriam," she muttered.

Haymitch gasped and stopped, his hand dropping like lead.

"Shit," he said.

He had expertly avoided May's family, apart from the 'anonymous' donations he left at their doorstep each week in the middle of the night. And they did the same, apart from the sweets that were delivered to his door each week; which he threw away at first, but then in a drunken stupor ate every last bite.

Miriam glanced back up at him, her eyes still wet.

It hurt too much to look at the image of May and know that it wasn't her…

He looked away.

"Haymitch," Miriam whispered.

He looked down at his boots. He couldn't…

"Goddammit Haymitch, look at me!" she shouted, and he snapped his head up, meeting May's gaze.

It took him a moment to realize, again, that it wasn't her.

May was gone.

She had died in his arms, he had felt the life drain out of her.

_"Thank you, Mitch."_

Her last words.

He had an inkling to reach into his bag to take a gulp of the moonshine he had just bought, but Miriam's teary gaze held him in place.

"I felt her," she whispered, breaking in her voice.

Haymitch looked away, but Miriam shouted again.

"Look at me!"

"I fucking can't!" he screamed back, looking her in the eyes yet again as he winced and shook his head, turning away, fighting to hold it all in. Miriam let out a sob and reached for him, but he flinched away, shaking his head.

But Miriam was like her twin.

Beautiful, and stubborn.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, crying into his shoulder.

He didn't know if it was the bottle of rum earlier that day, or the jarring moment when he thought he was back with May… but he returned the embrace, and didn't even bother holding back his own tears.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered over and over again.

Miriam's arms tightened around him as they both cried.

Eventually, it was her that pulled back.

"Thank you, Haymitch."

He flinched backwards. The words were raw, so fresh…

What kind of twisted thing was she…

"I felt her happiness before my heart broke in half," she whispered, stepping forward and meeting his gaze.

This time, he couldn't look away, even though his gaze was slightly blurry from his tears.

"She was happy, I felt her," Miriam's voice broke, and more tears poured from her eyes.

"I couldn't save her, Mir," he whispered.

She gasped at the nickname, but then the corner of her mouth twitched.

"She let you call her May," she whispered.

He only stared.

"She didn't let anybody call her that, Haymitch."

He blinked, and looked away.

Miriam hugged him again, but he felt numb.

He had fallen in love and watched May die, all within the span of a month. Then he came home, alive, to his family, only to watch them being taken away before his very eyes, helpless.

If that wasn't considered torture, he wasn't sure what was.

He pulled back from the embrace, shaking his head. He bent down and pulled the strap of his bag back onto his shoulder.

"Haymitch," Miriam said, but he shook his head, wiping at his face with his sleeve.

"I can't."

"Please."

He stopped, and dropped his hand.

"Fine, you want to come over? I… I promise I won't… attack you like that again," he muttered, not looking at her.

"Lead the way," she whispered.

He flinched, expecting her to leave him alone, not accept his empty offer.

He only nodded, and turned towards the Victor's Village gate, towards his hated home. His only home.


End file.
